


Cobalt On Your Fingers

by AdelineAround



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Creampie, M/M, Not Beta Read, Orgasm, Overstimulation, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Squirting, Teasing, Trans Male Character, Trans Simon, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:36:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineAround/pseuds/AdelineAround
Summary: Markus and Simon dabble in a kink that tends to get awfully messy. It's a good thing Markus does not mind a little mishmash.





	Cobalt On Your Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> For [Elliot](https://twitter.com/mommykinksimon).  
> Thanks for bearing with me, and I apologize this is so late.  
> This was a **blast** to write, even though it came out a bit longer than expected. I hope you will enjoy it, nevertheless.  
> I use the words to describe Simon's anatomy: _dick, folds, sex, mound, front hole, passage_

Simon needs to go.

So, so badly.

He checks the time, the clock on the wall, but there is still has half an hour to go before he and Markus can be dismissed from the meeting.

Oh, what torture is this? Simon holds back a groan of frustration, barely able to focus on what the presenter is trying to make aware to the organization Jericho. It is something about resources and good campaign management through help of the US government, Simon thinks. Or, well, usually does when his is not under duress like he is now.

With his blue eyes, he glances at Markus, who sits stone-still next to him at the briefing table. Without the LED on his right temple, it is almost impossible to tell if Markus is paying attention; his face is schooled into a polite expression, mismatched eyes following each time the presenter moves. It looks like he has all his focus and energy on the topic discussed but, really, Simon knows the revolutionary leader much better than many others.

 _How are you holding up?_ he wants to ask, but the telepathic connection he has with Markus is temporarily closed off, as if Markus is trying to concentrate. Perhaps he is. Simon is just reading him wrong.

He clenches his hands into fists under the table when the familiar yellow warning pop-up crowds his HUD for the umpteenth time. Simon whisks it away. He knows, frowning, that his biocomponent #ub845m is full to capacity. He does. And yet, Simon is still in the meeting, unwilling to get up and empty the biocomponent until he is allowed to leave.

Simon steals another look at Markus, but his profile stature has not changed since. He looks back at the array of electronic tablets laid out in front of him, seeing but not reading the text that is displayed on their surfaces.

Of all days, why did the meeting have to be today?

Simon needs to realize that this was specifically planned, and his biocomponent is supposed to ache, wishing to be depleted of its fluids; making him miserable and want to beg for relief. He sighs out quietly, a little shiver traverses his body from the base of his spine.

This is torture, he thinks, but it is something he agreed to. The reward will be more than worth the discomfort he feels at this moment. Still, Simon needs to mitigate some of the pressure between his legs…

Carefully, Simon is relaxing one of his hands to press against the lower hem of his shirt, sliding up until his palm rests right above the crying biocomponent. It is snugly fit into his carriage, under his endoskeleton and artificial skin, covered by his article of clothing. He presses upon it just slightly, as if to test the fragility of it.

**WARNING: PLEASE EMPTY COMPONENT #ub845m BEFORE PALPATION**

Simon sucks in a breath, feeling the fullness of the biocomponent. A rush of information floods his cognitive processes for a short second, blurring his vision temporarily, before his synthetic cerebral function corrects the error. His thighs bunch, squeezing together unconsciously at the feeling that courses through him; the feeling that he must go.

He needs to empty his artificial bladder. So badly.

Simon’s eyes shoot the clock again. Only twenty more minutes, and he can finally rush to the restroom.

He pushes down on the lower part of his abdomen again, letting his system stutter when he does. This time, code corrupts in the forefront of his mind, flashes of black, white and grey pushing through his optical nerves like static. That was… it feels surprisingly _good_. Simon, though the silent cry to release is still there, wants more.

But he should not. He turns his head, from one side of the room to the other, as if scanning it nonchalantly, as most other androids do. He keeps his face forced in a calm expression, as not to get caught palming against his belly.

Simon would be a fool if he tried to pass the time by teasing himself, fiddling under the table in the most inappropriate of ways. Quickly, he disables the thirium flow to his cheeks, knowing how easily they flush a pale blue hue when he is ashamed.

And then, just as Simon is about to take his hand off his bladder, one of deeper tone shoots out to grab at his wrist.

_Don’t let them catch you._

Oh. Simon looks to the owner of that large, warm extremity, his cerulean eyes meeting lake green and ocean blue. Markus holds him fest under the table.

_Markus,_

_Shhh,_ Markus diverts his eyes back to the speaker.

With no choice but to follow, Simon does the same without question. Disappointment from lack of satisfaction begins to creep into him, making him feel absolutely silly for even attempting at teasing himself. Even more absurd is the fact that he wanted to try it during a meeting, and not in the closed vicinity of his own bedroom. Simon can only imagine what Markus is thinking right now. Is he disheartened by Simon’s actions, judging him silently for resorting to such inappropriate behavior? Or is he angered, annoyed that Simon is so desperate to rid himself of boredom that he will turn to concealed yet lewd acts under the tabletop?

But his worries are for nothing when Markus does not release Simon’s hand…

 _What are you doing?_ Simon gulps silently, but his throat moves nevertheless.

Markus smirks the tiniest bit but, to others, it might have just been from a joke the presenter just attempted to poorly crack. _What does it look like I’m doing?_ he asks.

_I don’t understand,_

Simon is cut short, however, when Markus shoves his and Simon’s hands down onto the PL600’s lower abdomen, palpating harder than Simon had done just moments before. A multitude of errors and cautionary warnings spark in Simon’s vision, flooding his mind with red and yellow hues that make him feel almost dizzy. His bladder cries just a little; the seal keeping the liquids within from the outside world spasming in order to keep from spilling.

Oh, god. It feels like torture. Sweet, sweet torture.

It feels so good.

Simon bites back a groan that formulates amongst his vocal cords. He will _not_ surrender to his primal urges here, no matter how much he wants to. He shoots Markus a glare, a little act between “stop that” and “do it more”, hoping the revolution leader understands what he actually wants.

And, oh, does Markus ever. Letting up for only a second, Markus slaps away Simon’s own hand in favor for taking over completely. With the heel of his palm, Markus begins to knead right above Simon’s belly button, taking his time reaching down, down, down. Simon cannot keep his eyes off of the motion, completely mesmerized, drawn in by both the sight and the touch on his body.

Unconsciously, Simon cinches his thighs together, as if the action is able to dampen the unbidden pleasure that courses through his veins. He blinks his eyes once. He would squeeze them shut, if only there weren’t other people in the room.

Across from he and Markus are Josh and North, oblivious to the shenanigans underneath the table. They look equally as bored, North looking like she is about ready to fall into standby mode. Simon does not know whether or not he wants to laugh or cry, but he bites down on his bottom lip when Markus smooths his fingers over and under his shirt.

Simon tries not to jolt when Markus touches him. The synthetic skin melts away around the area Markus’ fingers are on, as its owner trusts the other android completely.

 _So pretty,_ Markus remarks. He draws circles over Simon’s endoskeleton. _You think you can make it until the end of the meeting?_

In all reality, Simon probably can, as the statistics are there in the corner of his eye, but he does not care to look or know. Instead, he makes the tiniest shake of his head to answer Markus.

 _I don’t know,_ he sends. _Please, Markus, this is killing me._

Markus grins a little wider, but only enough where it is still professionally acceptable. The ovals that he draws divulge into messier strokes over Simon’s belly, traveling lower. Simon holds back a gasp when he reaches the waistband of the PL600’s slacks.

 _Markus, I…_ he starts, but is not sure how to finish the sentence.

The RK200’s blue and green eyes flit over to take in Simon’s face. _You don’t want it?_ he asks.

 _No!_ Simon counters a little too quickly, and Markus pauses his ministrations, eyebrows raising in mild surprise. _I mean,_ Simon scrambles for the right words, _I want it. I really, really want it, Markus._

Markus makes a little huff, similar to laughter, with a nod of his chin. No one else in the room even flinches, either ignoring Markus’ reactions, or so enraptured in the presenter’s speech that they do not notice.

 _What do you say, baby?_ Even through their telepathic form of communication, Markus sounds sly.

Simon swallows again, willing the heat resonating now in his cheeks to dissipate. His LED is probably spamming between yellow and blue, but he cannot seem to care less in the moment.

 _Simon,_ Markus tries again.

The PL600’s resolve shakes on uneasy ground as he finally answers, _Please._

_Good boy,_

Fuck. Simon bites down extra hard on his lip, tongue tasting the faintest hint of thirium spill from a broken synthetic capillary. He will have to solder it closed later but, for now, he blocks the thirium flow to it, opting to purse his lips as Markus’ words wash over him. The praise lights a flame within Simon’s thirium pump, aorta distributing it throughout the rest of his system. Burning pleasure spikes his blood as it runs in him, and Simon cannot help but feel a little vulnerable; desperately wanting Markus to take him into his arms and guide him to bed.

 _I am,_ Simon has the willpower to declare, just for Markus’ sake, _I am a good boy._.

Simon watches Markus as he sucks his teeth, clearly affected by his proclamation. One of the revolution leader’s feet shuffles next to Simon’s, climbing his pant leg until his knee is an inch from hitting the table they sit at.

Simon can barely think properly this time. Markus’ shoe rides up and down his calf; playing footsies with him in a way that will not draw attention towards them if Simon is able to keep himself in control. His palm goes back onto Simon’s bladder, squeezing down on it with the force he puts upon it.

“Nngh,” Simon slips, and he is absolutely _horrified_ when Josh gives both he and Markus a look.

 _Quiet, boy,_ Markus teases, and it does not calm Simon whatsoever.

Resisting the urge to cant his hips, Simon bemoans, _Stop! Josh probably knows._

In actuality, he does not want to cease action, but having an aware audience is something he is not too keen on. Markus, ever the indubious one, though, just presses on Simon harder, static filling Simon’s head. It feels like he is about to explode, too much in him with all that pressure on his biocomponent.

 _I can ask him, if that would please you,_ Markus quips, but the way he says it alludes that he is not actually serious about talking to Josh.

Simon clenches his jaw when Markus lets go and fondles his hip, then more midline, and finally downwards, down the source of Simon’s arousal. And, by god, is Simon aroused. He draws in a breath when Markus’ nimble fingers glide through wet, sopping folds, slick coating the tips of them.

 _God, Markus,_ groans Simon through their connection. _More._

 _Now, now,_ Markus stops his movements once again. _Let’s not be too hasty._

Simon wants to whine. He wants to keen, wants to buck up and grind against Markus’ fingers until he is wailing and coming all over his partner’s hand. Instead, he is forced to internalize it, keep himself mute and play out the rest of the meeting like the good boy he is. He wiggles his hips just a bit, desperate for some friction along his sex.

 _Markus, I—_ he begins.

Just then, Markus rips himself away from Simon, leaving him shocked and mildly confused.

“I thank you all for coming,” Markus stands, folding his arms behind his back in a semblance of good manner. In reality, it is because he has Simon’s juices on his fingers, pale cobalt cyprine dripping from his nails and fingertips. “You were very informative. Jericho and I look forward to working with you in the future.”

“Thank _you_ for your time and attention,” the council rep responds in a cut, professional voice. He throws out a hand, waiting for Markus to take it. “Until next week, I believe. We have another meeting at the White House with President Warren.”

Simon can feel his thirium pump leap to his throat. Is Markus really going to reach out and shake that human’s hand with his own slicked with Simon’s wetness? Quickly, he must think of a solution before it is too late.

“Oh,” he says, intentionally fumbling with one of the tablets, watching as it falls to the ground in what might have been slow motion.

It lands with a loud clatter, the noise enough to distract both Markus and the representative. Simon apologizes, making to dive after it behind Markus, where his hands are still folded behind his back.

He does not care if he strains his neck; Simon is reaching down to pick up the dropped tablet while wrapping his mouth around Markus’ phalanges. He sucks fast and hard, trying to vacuum most, if not all, of his cyprine off his partner’s fingers before releasing them with a quiet pop. With the tablet back in his possession, Simon rights himself back into sitting position to place it back on the table.

“Until next week.” Simon sees Markus wipe his fingers on the back of his coat, drying them of Simon’s thirium-based saliva. He then takes the rep’s hand, shaking it firmly in agreement. “I look forward to it.”

The human does not seem to even notice Markus’ digits are a little damp. No one acknowledges Simon, by which Simon is grateful. He is not sure he wants to talk to anyone, especially not when he is so hot and bothered. By the time Markus says his goodbye, Simon looks about ready to burst, unwilling to wait any longer.

“Markus.” He hops to his feet, wanting nothing more than to drag Markus by the collar and have the revolution leader fuck him silly in the bathrooms. “Come on,”

“Now?” Markus, playing ever dumb, queries. “What’s the rush, Si?”

Simon bites down on his back molars in near frustration. Markus _knows_ what Simon desires, yet he is not giving it to him. He taps one foot on the floor, impatiently. “You know why,” he scowls.

 _No more games,_ he communicates. _I need your big, fat cock in me, Markus._

And _that_ finally does the trick; Markus turns to both North and Josh, telling them that he and Simon will rendezvous with them at the Manfred estate later. North squints her eyes to slits at them, but Josh nods solemnly. Before he can reply, Simon has had it with waiting, taking Markus by the arm and leading him out of the meeting room.

They make it the vacant restroom without a minute to spare, but Simon is already hacking the lock mechanism on the door, keeping it shut so they may have privacy. Then, without warning, he is launching himself at Markus, shucking that coat off the RK200 to attack his neck.

“Off,” he says, shoving the offending piece of outerwear to the floor.

“Impatient little thing,” Markus laughs, but a groan is ripped from his gut when Simon sucks and bites where one of his carotid arteries would be if he was human.

He returns the groan when the revolution leader brings a thigh betwixt his two, bumping his arousal only once. Simon cannot help it; his hips are on autopilot as they grind down onto that thigh and knee, riding it in undulating motions that are as sloppy as the dripping mess he is making in his pants.

Markus snorts out a chuckle, his leg retreating to leave Simon nearly begging for more. But Simon stops nibbling on the skin for a second to counter, “Because you made me wait.”

“Mm, sorry,” hums Markus, but he sounds anything but apologetic.

“You’re such a tease— ah!”

Simon squeals when Markus wrenches him back by the hair, the receptors in his scalp tingling. He is forced to look into Markus’ eyes, getting lost in the combination of ocean blue and forest green. Black pupils shine with assertive dominance as they stare at each other for a stolen moment. It is almost as if Markus is going to kiss him, but he opts for something else last minute.

Markus falls to his knees, surprising Simon, only to shove Simon’s shirt up and pull his pants down. Simon is thankful that he believes undergarments are truly unnecessary to wear, especially in times like these.

“Spread them,” the RK200 commands, voice beginning to dip lower.

“Yes, sir.” It comes without hesitation, so incredibly automatic, yet still said with meaning.

Simon widens his stance, obedient as Markus sloughs off his partner’s slacks and throws them to a corner. With dexterity, Simon steps out of them, miraculously keeping his shoes on and feeling mighty exposed under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. His first instinct is to cover up using his hands, but he knows Markus has much more in store for him if he just behaves. Still, if Markus does not hurry, Simon does not know how much longer his bladder can take before he needs to spill. He ruts up into Markus’ touch when his partner accidentally brushes over the thick patch of curls above his dick.

“Does my good boy need something?” Markus cooes softly. When Simon only nods, he says, “Use your words, Simon.”

Simon swallows, his tongue feeling like a lump of useless tissue in his mouth. Markus’ face is so close to his mound, his own poised just along those pearly white, polymer teeth; any closer, and Markus could be sucking Simon instead.

“Come on, baby,” Markus coaxes again.

This time, Simon lets the words tumble from his awkward mouth, “I want,”

“Want what, Simon?”

Simon closes another notification window on his HUD. “I want… your mouth on me.”

 _That wasn’t so bad to say, now was it?_ Markus simpers, but does not give Simon a chance to react further, for he is diving in face first.

Slapping a hand to his mouth, a shrill scream tears from Simon’s voice box. Markus feels so unbearably good on him like this, flicking his oral muscle back and forth along Simon’s dick like his life depends on it. The RK200 adds more mouth, more tongue, laving up and down the surface area of Simon’s dripping folds. Markus dips shallowly into that front hole of his, eliciting another loud moan from the android.

Simon cannot help but smash Markus’ face against his pelvis. His ministrations feel incredible, shocks of pleasure sparking and combusting in all quadrants of his body. He leaks from his front hole like a faucet, his bladder biocomponent quivering as it stays neglected. For once in his life, his mind shuts out everything that is not Markus, hyperfocusing on his partner like nothing else exists in the world for him.

But, alas, his bladder can only hold so much liquid, and it is close to bursting, soaking Markus’ face with his fluids. As kinky as that sounds to Simon, it will have to wait for another day; there is too much at stake if he decides to give into his impulse, not to mention their clothing would be ruined. That would mean disaster for each other.

“Oh shit,” Simon manages to groan. Gently, he coerces Markus off him, saying, “Please, sir, I can’t hold it any longer.”

“Hold? Oh,” Markus seems to have forgotten all about Simon’s aching bladder. “Poor Simon, you must have been suffering during the presentation,” he remarks cruelly. At the same time, he rises to full height, spinning the PL600 android around to one of the toilet stalls. “Why don’t you go now, pretty boy? You deserve to.”

Simon faces the toilet, but isn’t sure exactly what to do. He has never tested out this biocomponent before until today. He freezes, trying to preconstruct the easiest way of straddling the porcelain throne.

“I don’t know, Markus,” he starts, but Markus is too fast.

“Come on, baby,” Markus says, fingers back at Simon’s folds. He spreads them until the cool building air hits closest to Simon’s core heat. He teases his partner’s dick, rubbing a finger pad over and around it. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

 _Just go,_ is the key words, and that is all it takes for Simon to succumb.

The first gush of liquid spurts from Simon in a weak stream, dribbling at first, then increasing in power. Even then, it feels like a dam has burst open in Simon, and the stopper valve on the biocomponent will not close if he told it to. Pale blue pours from Simon, a mineral solution that he had drunk some hours ago.

He feels relief crash over him, the building crescendo within him releasing all at once. It exits him, leaving Simon feeling empty, grateful, so euphoric to the point he just mewls aloud. Simon has never felt anything like this before; never felt so ecstatic.

Markus tips Simon forward, helping him to keep his aim, but cannot contain the animalistic growl that escapes his larynx when Simon finally finishes. Simon pants, as if he ran a full ninety-minutes on a soccer field, thirium flow present in his face. His cheeks blush a bright lilac, eyes heavy-lidded and mind addled with lust.

It had felt so good; he can barely process thought. Simon rocks back onto his heels, leaning against Markus. The android leader is hard in his pants, his stiff member solid and poking Simon against his thigh.

“So beautiful, Simon,” Markus rumbles in his ear. The PL600 hears the sound of a zipper being undone, fabric rustling behind him. “I need to have you, boy. I need to be inside you.”

Simon feels debauched when he presses his backside to Markus, but he is too turned on to care. Instead, he bends over, gripping the bath tissue dispenser. He shoots a look over his shoulder at Markus.

“Please,” he begs.

But Markus is pulling back suddenly, leaving Simon confuzzled.

“Not here,” Markus says, gesturing to the bathroom sinks instead, “I wanna spread you on the counter, love.”

With that, Simon’s brain nearly short-circuits. He follows Markus to the sink, closing the distance between them as he initiates a kiss for the first time today. Soft lips descend on his as he wraps his arms around Markus, tongue sneaking out to lick open the revolution leader’s hot cavern.

Markus grants him access right away, intertwining their tongues together in a sensual dance. They mingle with each other, from one hot mouth to the other. Markus takes the time to hike Simon up onto the counter, depositing him there. He jerks Simon’s fair knees apart, breaking the kiss as he almost salivates at the sight.

Simon, though, is too worked up to wait.

“Now,” he cries, a hand grasping Markus’ cock to line it up against him. The member throbs steadily in his hand, so thick and warm and _huge_. “Do it now, sir. Take me.”

So, take Simon, Markus does. The initial breach feels like heaven; Simon does not think he will ever get used to this, being stretched out to near breaking point. It splits him open, makes his lubrication system work faster, leaving them too slick, yet not slick enough. He arches his back as Markus slides further into his passage, cock so big that lights flash in and out of his peripheral vision. Simon’s fingers whoosh out to grab and claw at Markus’ strong arms, steadying himself as Markus slides to the hilt.

Simon’s head tilts back, chin pointing to the ceiling. His eyes flutter as they roll in the back of their sockets from pleasure. His mouth is stretched wide open around an unadulterated moan. If only they had done this sooner andcut the meeting short, he thinks; in the back of his mind, he wonders what it would be like if he didn’t empty his bladder and was still being railed by Markus.

The first pull back has Simon reeling, with Markus exiting until only the plush head of his cock is lodged within him. He whines pathetically, muscles contracting on what little he can still squeeze upon, tempting his partner to continue. He needs this. He needs more. He needs Markus. When Markus obliges, they both wail at the thrust in.

By god, does Simon love being filled. He angles his hips forward to find more purchase as Markus starts a rhythm, long legs wrapping around Markus’ middle to keep him close. His heels dig into the meat of his partner’s lumbar; Simon clings to him not unlike a koala bear.

“You’re so _tight_ ,” Markus confesses, rocking against Simon with more vigor. “So right for me. So good for me,” he rambles.

The shlick of their bodies rebounds off the restroom walls, ricocheting back to both Simon’s and Markus’ aural sensors. They grip at each other, nails scratching the synthetic skin that covers their enamel endoskeletons. Every thrust is like a shock of electricity to their very beings, inching them ever deeper into the depths of pleasure, so close to finish. Simon knows he is not going to last long.

When Markus shoves in at just the right depth, the PL600’s system lags for a second. Simon’s voice glitches as he shouts, vision feed corrupted before it fixes itself.

“What was that?” Markus asks, slowing his tempo, but thrusting in just as deep.

Simon whimpers this time, “You’re so deep, Markus. All the way; you’re hitting my— ah!”

Markus drives in harder, pummeling Simon as hard as his systems will allow without breaking. If Simon were human, Markus hitting his cervix would probably be painful, but it only brings him ecstasy as he holds on for dear life.

“God, Simon,” gruffs Markus. “You’re such a good boy.”

“Yes, yes!” Simon can barely keep up, being thrown up and down Markus’ gigantic cock. “Markus, I’m so close,”

With three fingers, he strokes over his dick, his whole body tensing. Just a little more, just a little more…

Markus leans into Simon, hips pistoning hard and fast, exactly like a machine, “Come for me, Simon. I want you to come for me.”

Simon’s orgasm hits him like a freight train, bouldering into him without forgiveness. He flies, closest to the sun without being incinerated by the heat of passion and pleasure. Electricity spikes through him, jolts him and fries him alive, but in the best of ways. His eyes see everything and nothing at once, biocomponents blaring at him, overheating from exhaustion. His ears tingle with numb, but he feels oversensitized, free-falling instead of floating down to earth from a high.

Something jets over his fingers, leaking down his thighs as Simon comes to.

“Wait, wait,” he sobs, unable to rein himself back in. Did he just..?

Markus, though, does not pause his thrusting, piledriving into Simon erratically. He seems intent on riding him to the tail end of his own procure. His gemstone eyes are aflame with lust and need for Simon.

He growls, “So pretty, Simon. Coming on my dick, all over your fingers… _fuck. Fuck._ ” From the looks of it, he is not going to last but a few more seconds.

“Come in me, sir,” he begs. “Please.” Simon can feel tears streaming from his eyes.

That seems to be the nail, hammered in by Simon’s honey-sweet voice. Markus roars as he comes, every synthetic muscle drawing taut as a visible shake and shiver coasts from his toes to the top of his head. He clutches at Simon, arms encircling his partner, bringing Simon supine-like on the sink counter. His grip is so tight as he plugs Simon with his seed, flooding the PL600 with hot, viscous substance that makes its way into the deepest part of Simon’s body. He groans and grumbles, riding out the last tidal waves of his ecstasy.

“I love you,” Simon whispers into Markus’ skin. “I love you.”

They stay like this for a few more moments but, unlike humans, they do not catch their breath; calibrating their systems and running diagnostics in the midst of cooling their burning processing cores. Simon relaxes, lets his legs fall to either side of Markus, kissing him chastely on the lips as they bask in the afterglow.

“Thank you,” Markus says after a while, helping Simon down from the sink so they can clean up. “That was amazing.”

Simon chuckles. He feels more alive than he has since the uprise of his people. “It was amazing,” he says. “But it came with a price. I’m sorry, it looks like I soaked your pants through.”

Markus looks down at his ruined pants, Simon’s slick covering the upper front and zipper. He laughs, “I didn’t know you could come like that. It was so hot; I wish I could have recorded it.”

Simon blushes, wiping the mess made along his thighs and hole. Markus had come in him so much; he knows he will have to deep clean to remove all remnants later.

“You still can, if you want,” he replies.

“Oh, really,” Markus teases.

“Yes, really.” He is not opposed to trying it again, intrigued by the many undiscovered features of the biocomponent #ub845m. He refastens his trousers. “Let’s go home, Markus. Back to Jericho. The new Jericho.”

“To _our_ Jericho.”

Markus takes it with ease, sharing one last kiss with Simon before they leave their little moment of rapture.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please consider smashing that kudo button and leaving a comment!
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ra9ical).


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